A Name He Got Stuck With
by TheAmericanWeasley
Summary: A cute little oneshot about how Dewey got his nickname.


Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the _Scream_ franchise or any of its affiliated characters.

Notes: In this story, I'm assuming that Tatum and Dewey are about eight years apart in age, since in _Scream_ (1996), Dewey is twenty-five and Tatum is around seventeen. So, in this story, Dewey is twelve, making Tatum about four or five.

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_**A Name He Got Stuck With**_

a Scream fan fiction

by TheAmericanWeasley

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"_So, is Dewey your real name?"_

"_No, it's Dwight…Dewey's just something I got stuck with a long time ago."_ ~ Scream (1996)

. . .

He was in the most intense car chase of his life. The perpetrator swerved into multiple lanes (earning a fair amount of obscene hand gestures from angry drivers), cut through numerous red lights, and petrified at least two squirrels that were innocently crossing the street.

Police officer Dwight Riley remained mere feet behind him, his lights blaring, and the road clearing before him like the Red Sea as drivers dodged to the sides of the road so as not to cause interference. The perpetrator made a sharp turn, this time leaving the main road and taking refuge in one of the side streets filled exclusively with houses. This did not discourage Dwight, who remained right behind him. The young man grinned as the perpetrator slowed in front of him—for he realized that the neighborhood was in fact as cul-de-sac, and he would have to stop, lest he run through two children playing basketball in front of their houses.

This was it. Seizing his gun and a pair of handcuffs, Dwight bolted from his car toward the hopeless criminal, ready to rid Woodsboro of his crime…

And then Dwight's little sister brought him back to reality. She snatched the young boy's toy police car from his hand and proceeded to play with the wheels.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with toys?" Tatum Riley inquired in her youthful tongue. "Mom thinks so too."

"I'm only twelve-and-a-half years old," Dwight informed, "and it is not a toy!" he further insisted, taking the small car from his sister's grasp, lest she chew on it to see if it would force her loose tooth out. "It's a special edition Hot Wheels! See?" he held up the plain red vehicle that acted as the perpetrator's car and held it next to the police car. "See how it's bigger than the others? And the paint is so detailed! Yeah, it's amazing. This one definitely can't get wet, though, it might ruin the paint and detail. God, it's amazing, and I'm going to drive something just like this when I'm older."

"It's a toy," Tatum deemed. "Why do you care so much about that one, anyway?"

"'Cause your big brother is going to be the Sheriff of Woodsboro one day, and everyone will have to treat me like a man of the law. Plus, if I can keep it in good condition," he added, examining the delicate features of his police car model, "it might be worth a lot of money someday, I hear."

Shrugging, his sister sauntered through the doorframe, jokingly saying, "Whatever, Doofus."

. . .

The residents of Woodsboro faced an unpleasant surprise the following day: it was raining. Rain in Woodsboro was a rare occurrence; it only occurred a few times a year if at all, and was moderate. Nature was apparently compensating for the annual absence of rain today, for it was truly pouring.

Dwight and his sister had just consumed their individual T.V dinners for the evening (while Tatum ate a kiddie meal, Dwight was proud to say that he had graduated to the Swanson T.V. dinner level).

There was a long wooden shelf latched to the wall directly above the old television in Dwight's room—it was where he kept his most prized possessions for proud display, and was also the first place he looked to when he entered his room.

For this reason, it came as bolt of horror when he saw that his Hot Wheels police car was absent from the shelf.

"Tatum!" he called, automatically sensing that his little sister was involved. "Where is my police car?"

His mother answered instead. "Your little sister wanted to play with it," she replied from the living room couch. "I said it was okay."

"Mom!" Dwight, have re-entered the room, began slowly but sternly, trying not to overreact. "I never let anyone play with that. I don't even play with it."

"Liar," Tatum muttered under her breath in amusement.

"Tatum!" her mother scolded, "Don't call your brother that. Where did you put his Hot Wheels?"

"I left it outside while I was playing in the grass—before it started raining."

"Outside?" Dwight spat in horror. "It'll get ruined!"

Without waiting for a response, he rushed out the backdoor into their modest, grassed backyard. Within seconds of frantic searching, he found his precious model car on the wet grass, where it was being victimized and pelted with rain. Dwight cupped it in his hands and ran for the safety of his house, not even caring how drenched he had gotten in the process.

He stood in the center of the living room, examining the results of the rain. The boy had saved it with only minimal paint damage, but it would certainly never look as nice as it once did. While his mother only gave him a comforting rub on the shoulder, his younger sister was receiving a strange amusement from her brother's sorrow.

"Look at him, Mommy!" she cried with glee. "Little Dwight ran into the pouring rain to save his baby toy! Look at him, he's dripping rain all over the floor! We might as well call him Water Boy or something from now on!"

Their mother did not respond to her daughter's antics, but instead continued to examine her dripping wet son.

"Your face got the worst of it," their mother observed, running her palm along his cheek. "Look at all those dewdrops."

"That's it!" Tatum continued, "We should call him Dewey! It even fits his real name!"

"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly, too tired to argue with his little sister, and too upset to care. He walked to his room in silence, his worthless model car lifeless in his palms, and shut the door behind him perhaps too loudly than he had intended.

It wasn't the car he was angry about—it was the sad fact that he received so little respect in Woodsboro. What made it even more frustrating was that he thought he had everything going for him: his was well-liked and trusted by the adults in the community, received above average grades, and was certainly a handsome, baby-faced boy—perhaps it _was_ the very state of him being cute and likeable that made it hard for people to take him seriously when he stated he wanted to enter a career as dangerous as that of a police officer.

Still musing on the subject, Dwight threw the model car in his wastebasket—Tatum was right, he was too old to be playing with toys anyway.

A feeble knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts, and he replied with a rough "Come in."

It was Tatum.

His little sister looked especially guilty, pulling awkwardly at her strawberry-blonde pigtails, and her dark eyes wide and glistening with suppressed tears.

Despite the offense she had cause, he didn't like seeing his little sister melancholy. She would probably grow up to forget this day regardless, and go back to treating him like crap—so what was the point of holding a grudge?

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, inviting her to sit next to him. Once she did, he wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders, pulling her close. "It's okay," he reassured.

"I'm sorry," she cried, her baby-tongue slurring slightly on the "r", sounding more like a "w". "I knew how much it meant to you and I left it in the rain. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't mean anything to me, it's just a toy. I forgive you, Tatum." Noticing that she looked unconvinced that he forgave her, he added, "How about I pop some popcorn and we can watch a scary movie?"

She instantly perked up, and Dwight knew that he had succeeded. "Can I pick the movie this time?" she asked eagerly.

"Anything you want," her brother smiled in return. He stood up from the bed to make his way to the kitchen, but Tatum said "Dwight?", and so he turned to her once more.

"Yes?"

"Can I still call you Dewey? I'm not trying to make fun of you…but I like the name, really."

_Dewey_, Dwight mentally debated, a name like that would only add to the list of reasons that the town didn't take him seriously…but still, the look on his sister's face was hard to ignore.

"I guess I'm stuck with it," he finally said. "Sure, call me Dewey."

Tatum giggled with satisfaction, and blew her brother a kiss as a way to say thank you. He decided to play along and catch the kiss, relishing in the rare moment that he and his sister were actually getting along.

No doubt they would be back to their usual quarrels by the next day.


End file.
